


Live with Wolves, and You Learn to Howl

by bending_sickle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bending_sickle/pseuds/bending_sickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles reconsiders Peter's proposition about becoming a werewolf. (Season 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Live with Wolves, and You Learn to Howl

**Author's Note:**

> Last night I dreamed that I was chasing a pack of wolves, trying to belong. - Anon. or uncredited.

Derek turned away from the teen with a sigh, leaving the door open behind him. 

"What now, Stiles?"

"I’m in."

Derek glanced back at Stiles standing in what was left of his foyer, hands deep in his pockets. Was this some sort of joke? Derek gave a little _no shit_ tilt of his head.

"I’m in," repeated Stiles, adding a defiant jut to his chin. 

_Okay, I’ll bite._ ”In what?”

"Your little leather wolf pack."

Derek stared at Stiles for a moment, wondering if maybe the boy was just going to stand around and state the obvious all day or if this was some kind of teenage code. “Okay?”

"Um, okay, great!" said Stiles, stuttering a little as if he’d expected an argument. He looked relieved and terrified at the same time, with the sharp scent of sweat breaking out into the room. 

"Stiles," said Derek, slowly and carefully because _what was going on with this kid_ , “you are already part of this pack.” He was going for reassuring, hands held up in a peaceful gesture and everything, but Stiles wasn’t listening, or even looking at him. The boy was tugging at his shirt and Derek barely had time to realize that things had gone horribly wrong somewhere in this conversation before Stiles was baring his side at him. “So bite me.”

"What?!" Derek did not sputter. Alphas _do not_ sputter.

"Bite me already." Stiles pulled the shirt up higher and stretched his side out towards Derek. "Here, make me your chew toy." He froze. "I really wish I hadn’t said it like that."

"You’re asking me to bite you," said Derek, still clinging to the hopes that this was some mass miscommunication. With Stiles, you never knew. But then again, there was his side, pale skin and bony hip.

"Uh, _yeah_ ," said Stiles, sounding so completely like a teenager that Derek could almost see the age gap between them.

"You want to be a werewolf," insisted Derek, claws-deep in denial. Stiles was _human_. You could use that fact as the foundation for the universe. Imagining Stiles as a werewolf was like trying to imagine fire was water.

"That’s what I’m saying." The bravado was ebbing out of his voice, though, and Stiles’ hand was down, leaving only the jut of his hip exposed. 

Derek’s mind finally accepted they were having this conversation. His jaw clenched. 

Stiles’ fingers flexed into the folds of his shirt. “You bite, I turn.”

"Or you die."

"I’m not going to die." 

Derek bristled at the dismissive tone and opened his mouth to tell Stiles just _how many_ of those bitten actually died, his memory calling up names and faces of people who were almost pack, almost family, when the boy takes three quick steps forward.

"Look, I _know_ , okay? I know this isn’t like getting some piercing or tattoo, a light body alteration kind of thing - although people have lost limbs to badly done ink jobs, well okay maybe not limbs but the thing is, I know there’s a risk, okay? There’s the possible death thing. And then there’s the being skewered by an arrow thing. Not to mention the homicidal tendencies which I would very much like to avoid.”

"Stiles-" Derek almost growled.

"No, no listen," said Stiles, raising his hands. "Informed consent over here, okay? Very informed. Informed coming out of my ears. And I’m informed in a lot of other stuff, too. Your pack is, let’s admit it, limping, basically. You couldn’t bring down a metaphorical rabbit much less the not-at-all-metaphorical really really bad horrible thing that’s trying to kill you. And me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve pretty much got a bull’s eye on my back, the way you all keep dragging me into your werewolf crap. It’s like being thrown onto the lacrosse field without a helmet. I can’t play ball like this, man. And you’re always going on about how you need more wolves. Hello!” He pointed at himself. “I don’t see anyone else lining up.”

Derek rubbed hard at his face, feeling like he’d just gone one-on-one with a hurricane, and tried to align his thoughts.

Finally he looked up at the boy. “No.”

Stiles gaped at him. “Come on! Why not? Have you seen the damage? You could get killed. _I_ could get killed!”

"Exactly my point, Stiles. The bite could kill you -"

"But it won’t-"

"It _could_ , and even then, what we’re going to fight -“

"You don’t think I’m strong enough." Stiles’ voice was suddenly low and steady, with none of the manic energy from a few seconds before. "You don’t think I can do it."

Derek stared at Stiles. He was a boy, a _child_ , he reminded himself. All gangly limbs and energy, his face still soft curves and rosy cheeks. But then so was the rest of his pack. A pack of children is all he had, and here was another little lost boy begging to join in. It was down to him to keep them safe and most days he didn’t think he could.

"I can handle it," said Stiles, and suddenly he looked years older. "I handled Scott - hell I helped him better than you ever did - and I can handle myself. I can deal with the crazy and the fighting and the almost dying because _I’m already doing it_.”

Derek shook his head and moved to turn away, turn his back on the man looking out at him through a boy’s face, at the stretch of unmarked skin. From the corner of his eye he saw Stiles stiffened, working up one last plea.

"Maybe I should just ask your uncle."

Derek froze in his steps. That was not the card he had expected Stiles to throw down.

Stiles shifted a little, then added, louder. “I’m sure his offer still stands.”

That wasn’t a card; that was a _bomb_.

Derek turned slowly on his heel and stared at Stiles. He was panting, hands balled up into fists at his sides, looking like maybe he thought he’d said too much but was going to stick it out anyway.

"Did he…"

"Offer me," Stiles made little air-quotes in the air, " _the bite_? Yeah.”

"When?"

"When you were playing _Dungeons and Hunters_.” Stiles made a dismissive gesture and clarified. “The night of the formal dance.”

Derek felt like a broken record, skipping over the same few words over and over again in his head. “He offered you the bite.”

"Yes."

"He _offered_ you -“

“Yes.”

"Why?"

"He liked my face? _I don’t know_ , okay. Thing is I could have been a werewolf and I turned him down and now I’m seriously regretting that decision so bite me already or I’m taking it up with him.”

The needle in Derek’s mind skipped off the record entirely. He couldn’t think. His mouth went on autopilot. “He can’t turn you. He’s not the alpha anymore. Only an alpha can turn a human.”

"And you’re saying no."

Derek shook himself, trying to clear his head, wondering how they’d gotten here. He looked up at Stiles’ face, his mouth closed for once, lips pressed into a hard line, the boy and the man flickering across his features and here he was asking for fangs.

"I’m saying no."


	2. Link By Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Peter discuss Stiles, and Peter's offer of the bite.

Derek stood staring at the door as it swung shut behind Stiles. He heard the boy’s steps fall sure and steady as he went down the front steps, then muffle as he reached packed earth. They paused. The barest wisp of air rushing in past clenched teeth reached Derek’s ears, then silence. A few seconds later, there was a forceful sigh tinged with an emotion Derek couldn’t read. 

Was that one no enough? Was this the end of it? Knowing Stiles it probably wasn’t, but then it really didn’t matter what Stiles thought, Derek’s teeth were the only ones that could-

"'The bite might kill you', really?” Peter stepped into the foyer and gave Derek a disparaging look. "Hasn’t stopped you before." Peter walked closer to his nephew and leaned against the stair railing. “You know,” he said conversationally, “every time I think you’ve reached 'worst alpha' records, you dig yourself a little deeper.” 

Derek clenched a fist, knuckles cracking loud in the empty house, and turned his back to the front door. “Like you’re one to talk,” he snapped.

"Oh, sure," admitted Peter, "my tenure as alpha was record-breaking, but this is one mistake I never made."

"What do you mean?"

Peter studied his nails, flicking out the claws one by one like he was opening up a Swiss army knife. “I mean the boy.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest. “You really tried to bite him.”

"Not tried.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Offered.”

"Why? You couldn’t keep a pack together -"

"Please, if you mean Scott, I’d like to see you do better."

"Why offer him the bite?"

"You really have to ask?"

Derek squared his shoulders, reminding himself that "alpha" trumped "uncle" in the power scale. “Why Stiles?” he repeated.

Peter leaned his head back against the railing - throat exposed, Derek couldn’t help but register - and gave a slow smile, like he was savouring a secret. “You have no imagination. That’s your problem: you can’t see _potential_. Sure, part of that is your being raised beta - Laura was a natural alpha - but that only cuts you so much slack. You’re handing out the bite like it’s some kind of one-size-fits-all when you should know better. You’ve seen better.” He paused abruptly, as if derailed by memories his words drew up. 

Peter shook his head clear and fixed Derek with a stare. “You want to build a pack? You want to be stronger? Start by looking for candidates who will make _strong wolves_. You’ve heard about chains and weak links? News flash, kiddo, it’s the same thing with alphas, and your raggedy pack of children is copper links when it should be steel.”

Derek thought about Stiles, his jittery legs and thin wrists, bravado and _oh my God_ breaking past his lips with every breath. The image of Stiles standing in his foyer rose in his mind, the boy’s scuffed sneakers on the burnt wood, the cuffs of his jeans frayed and muddy. Long fingers pulling on cheap cotton, thin skin over thin hips, ribs shifting with each breath. “He’s just a boy.”

"Yes, he _is_ a boy." said Peter, pushing off from the railing and stepping closer to Derek. "But he _could_ be a werewolf, and even with you as his alpha, or hell even as an omega - and honestly I’m not sure which would be worse - he would be _magnificent_. Solid steel.”


End file.
